


I got a lot more people leaning on me (and all I wanna do is make them proud)

by Writerofshit (kay_samm)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Background Gavin Free/Meg Turney - Freeform, Background Ryan Haywood/Geoff Ramsey - Freeform, College AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24744667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_samm/pseuds/Writerofshit
Summary: When are you gonna come home, Michael?”“Give me a minute, let me check my calendar. Uh, let’s see, looks like… oh, the twelfth of never!”Or: how Michael Jones goes to college and finds a family.
Relationships: Jeremy Dooley/Michael Jones
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. Everything's a cavity (The last few months especially)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a long time coming! This entire fic came to me after seeing a post on Tumblr about family not necessarily being parents and kids, but the people you surround yourself with. Who you choose your family to be.  
> This is also the somewhat notorious 'note passing' fic I've been talking about on my Tumblr. I swear its coming after this.  
> This first chapter is just giving you and idea of where Michael is in his life, where he's coming from when he meets the other idiots.

“When are you gonna come home, Michael?” Gavin is asking.

Michael glances over his shoulder at the laptop on his desk. “Give me a minute, let me check my calendar.” He drops the shirt he’d been folding onto the bed, stepping over to the desk. He leans in close to the camera, trying to keep his expression neutral. Gavin’s face fills the majority of his screen. He’s already frowning, like he knows what’s coming. Michael feigns typing, clicking aimlessly a few times.

“Uh, let’s see, looks like… oh, the twelfth of never!” Michael says cheerfully.

“Right, of course.” Gavin says, rolling his eyes and leaning back away from his webcam. He's obviously disappointed, lips pursed. “How could I forget?” Gavin folds his hands behind his head. “Your mum called me the other day.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “Did she?” he’s pretty sure he already knows where this is going.

“She wanted me to convince you to come back.” he shakes his head. “Or at least to call her.” Gavin’s face says it all. He knows he’s already lost this argument. To be fair, he’s lost it every single time they’ve had it. 

“Tell her I said too fucking bad.” Michael pushes back from the desk, turning and taking the two steps back to his bed. Pros and cons of living in the world’s tiniest dorm room.

“Can you just call her yourself, Michael? She misses you. That’s gotta count for something.” Gavin says, like it’s ever going to change his mind.

It’s not that he doesn’t miss her too. He does. He just hates the guilt trip he gets every time he picks up the fucking phone. “Do you guys not get that I like being here? Plus like- are you trying to argue _against_ me getting an education? ‘Cause that’s fucked up.” It’s bullshit, he knows, but he hopes it might land a little.

“Oh come off it. There’s a perfectly good college here and you know it.” Gavin says. “You can get the exact same education here and _not_ be across the country.”

“Gavin I’m _happy_ here, okay?” he finally picks the shirt back up. “I like having my own place, my own life.”

“Like you and I wouldn’t have gotten an apartment together if you’d stayed.” Gavin leans forward again, face filling the screen. “And you have your own life? Right. That’s why it’s a Friday night and you’re in your room, folding laundry and talking to _me._ ”

Michael shrugs. “Not like we were doing anything different.” he tosses the shirt into a haphazard pile and picks up another.

“Exactly! Stop paying twice as much to do the same shit just far away.” And ok, now _that_ is complete bullshit.

“Says the man who moved to America to do- what was it again?” It’s a low blow, one he doesn’t like making very often. Gavin always gets extra offended when _his_ motives are questioned. Michael knows this, but he’s tired of having this same conversation.

“You know full well I’m going to school for film.” Gavin says, voice sharp.

“They don’t offer film classes in England? They don’t have grocery stores to kill time at?” He feels like shit for bringing it up, if he's being honest.

“Michael.” Gavin says sternly, like it’s ever worked on him before.

“Oh wait, that’s _exactly_ what you were doing before you moved. But then why move far away, to another goddamn _country_ , just to do the same shit?” They have this argument at least once a week. Gavin drops hints about him coming home, and Michael cusses him out for it. It’s their quaint little routine at this point.

“ _Michael._ ” Gavin whines. “You know for a goddamn fact why I’m in America and not back in England.”

“Yeah yeah, your fucking independence, I know.” Michael looks to the webcam again, tossing his folded work shirt onto his pillow. “So you get it, we can stop talking about it.”

“I hate that you always do this, Michael. It’s not fair.” He can see Gavin pouting. He’ll get over it.

“Not fair, right. Says the guy who sent me a fucking post card from the town I’ve lived in my whole life.” He hadn’t brought it up yet, hadn’t wanted to get angry about it again. No time like the present. “That was an asshole move, by the way.” He surveys the mountain of laundry on his bed. He really does not feel like doing this shit tonight.

“Thought you might like the reminder of what it looks like.” Gavin says innocently. “You didn’t come home for Christmas, if you remember right.”

“I had to work, Gav, I couldn’t just take a week off to dick around with you.” It’s deeply untrue, his boss had been surprised and almost...embarrassed that Michael hadn’t taken time off for the holidays. Michael had written it off as him being used to college kids taking every opportunity for vacation.

He stands with his hands on his hips, debating how much he’ll hate himself later for shoving everything into a drawer.

“I’m sure they would have understood. Did your mum tell you how she put a gift card for me into your stocking since I was actually there to get it?”

“No, but you have, about a million fucking times.” Michael says, rolling his eyes.

“I’m just saying-

“I know what the fuck you’re saying Gavin, trust me.” he shakes his head. “Can I at least finish out the first year before you guys actually guilt me into coming back? Before you force me into uprooting my life?”

Alright, he might be exaggerating about how many roots he’s actually put down here. By like… any, really. Aside from classes, his coffee shop job, and a handful of fruitless dates, he talks to approximately zero people.

Gavin snorts dismissively. "Right, sure, remind me of how many people you’ve even had one whole conversation with?”

“I talk to-”

“Your stupid dates and people you only talk to at work don’t count.” Gavin says quickly, cutting him off.

“Fuck you.” Michael responds. That was about to be his exact argument. Instead, left with no options, he decides to lie. “I have _friends,_ okay? I just don’t tell you about them. Don’t want you getting jealous, Gavvy.” he grins suggestively in Gavin’s direction, but there’s nothing meant by it. They both know he’s full of shit. Hopefully Gavin will let them move on from it.

“Uh-huh.” Gavin says, clearly not believing him. ”Whatever you say, Michael.” he shakes his head and picks up his phone. “Anyhow, maybe you should call one of your million other pals. I’m meeting Turney for dinner.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “This late?” he asks, voice saturated with insinuation.

“You shut up, mind your business.” Gavin says, but there’s a self satisfied bit of humor to his words.

Michael laughs. “Make sure you use protection.” he steps back to his laptop to find Gavin smirking. “I’m not ready to be an uncle.” he pauses. “Again, that is.” he tacks on at the end, kicking himself for forgetting that he already _is_ an uncle. Along with his best friend and his mother, he’d left his brother and his niece back in New Jersey too. Probably makes him a shitty uncle, if he’s being honest. 

“Sod off.” Gavin says, but there’s no heat to it. “Night, Michael.”

“Goodnight, Gav. Have fun.” he says, words all sing-song and suggestive.

Without another word he closes the window, watching Gavin’s face disappear with it.

He does miss his friend. He misses having any friends, if he’s being honest. They used to spend weekends fucking around downtown, sitting through shitty movies or getting Michael’s brother to buy them booze. They’re both twenty-one now, so that last one isn’t necessary anymore, but it was still fun at the time.

Michael had bounced from shitty job to shitty job, fast food and waiting tables and retail. He hadn’t known what he’d wanted to do, and he’d spent three years after high school trying to figure it out. At some point he’d figured he’d give college the old- well, _college try._

It hasn’t been what he’d planned. He’d hoped to meet people, meet anybody willing to put up with him for more than five minutes. A small part of him, one he’d never admit to Gavin, had hoped he’d find A Person, _his_ Person, maybe. If he ever told Gavin that, he’d have just rolled his eyes, said something along the lines of ‘you don’t need a person, you’ve got your boi.’

That’s all well and good, and while he wouldn’t ever want to _lose_ Gavin, Gavin’s not sucking his dick, is he? Gavin’s not sleeping next to him, not waking up with him, not kissing him better after a long day. Gavin’s is not the face he pictures when he imagines where the rest of his life will take him. He doesn’t want Gavin for any of that, either. He wants Gavin as he is, his dumbass best friend that he vents to about shitty dates.

Not that he’s actually _had_ one of those for a minute. Whatever. He’s been working, sue him. Shitty coffee house job, but it sort of pays the bills. At least, it pays for the six-pack of beer in his mini-fridge. He looks around at the laundry on his bed, his tv in the corner, his desk. It’s not much at all, really, but it’s his. Alright, it’s the college’s dorm room, but. It feels like his. That has to count for something.

He decides to forgo folding laundry, popping GTA V into his Xbox, grabbing a beer and laying back right on top of all the clothes. He doesn’t even bother changing into anything else- he’s been wearing sweatpants since he got out of class.

So he doesn’t have the greatest life in the world. He’ll get there some day.


	2. I was pretty pleased With the person I was pretending to be

His mom calls him the following Monday.

He’s already had a shit morning, leading into a shit afternoon. He had a 3:30 class and had somehow lost every goddamn piece of information that went with it. He’s still in the habit of taking notes by hand, transcribing them later is his way of studying. The conversation with Gavin had soured him for the weekend, and he’d done nothing but work and play video games. He spent the majority of Monday morning tearing his dorm room apart, searching for his psych shit. He’d found it with maybe an hour to spare. Awesome, he’d thought, just enough time to actually eat something beforehand.

Only to realize in the chaos, he’d misplaced his wallet. Another twenty minutes of searching later, he then couldn’t find his right shoe. In the end, he’d worn a pair of shitty flip flops- through the rain.

So, ten minutes before his class starts, when his mother asks how he’s doing, he’s not exactly low-key about it.

“Honestly, I’m having a shit day, Ma. I don’t have time or energy to hear whatever spiel you’ve got for me.”

A pause, and then- “Have you talked to Gavin?”

Of course she’s calling about that, of course she’s going to spin this as a reason to go back to New Jersey.

“Yeah.” he says shortly. “And I’m still not coming home, Ma. I’m happy here.” He thinks if he says it enough times it will make it true.

“You sound _thrilled._ ” she says, and the accusation is clear.

“Look, I already said I don’t have time for this shit.” he glances up to see his professor making her way down the hall. “I’ve got class, I gotta go.”

“Michael-”

“Bye, Ma.” he says and hangs up. In fairness, he had warned her.

He doesn’t go in the classroom yet, trying to cool down for a minute. He sees the guy who’s been sitting next to him for the last few weeks walk in, and isn’t that great. He’d hoped the guy would ditch at least once, he’s not in the mood for chipper whatever the fuck.

It’s not that he’s got anything against the guy. They’ve had a few brief conversations here and there, mostly about the ever changing weather or exchanging notes for class. He’s _fine._ Dude is just always so goddamn cheery and _nice._ Today is not the day for any of that shit.

He waits until two minutes before the start time, figuring if he cuts it close enough, looks angry enough, buddy might leave him alone. He all but slams his bag onto the table as he sits down, pulling his notebook out with more force than necessary.

It doesn’t work.

“You alright, man?”

He glances over. “Do I fucking look alright?” he’s not usually one to be outright rude to someone he doesn’t know all that well, but he’s just in the right mood for it.

The guy (why can’t Michael remember his goddamn name? He thinks it starts with a J. Maybe.) is quiet for a moment. “I mean, no? You look pissed, honestly.”

“Yeah, that’d be because I am fucking pissed. I’ve had a shitty day, and I don’t need the goddamn third degree from _you._ ”

Buddy holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Well fuck me, then. I was just asking.” He turns away from Michael, pulling a notebook from his own bag.

Michael sighs, instantly regretting his harshness. Guy is just trying to be nice. He’s got nothing to do with Michael’s shitty day. “Look, I- I’m sorry, alright? I had a long morning, and I just got off the phone with somebody, and it wasn’t a fun conversation.”

“I can relate.” The guy isn’t looking at him, rifling through his bag for something.

“Honestly, you’re lucky I’m here at all.”

Now he does look up, a small smirk on his face.”Yeah, I feel extremely blessed by your presence today.”

Michael can’t help but snort. Buddy’s got jokes. Before he can open his mouth to retort, their professor starts speaking.

Michael tries his best, honestly he does. He takes notes for the first forty-five minutes, genuinely paying attention. But he can only take so much after the day he’d had, and none of this is coming across as the most interesting shit right now. He’s heard enough about Pavlov to last a lifetime.

He glances to his right. The guy is doodling. At least Michael isn't the only one losing interest in the lecture. Buddy flips to a new page, scribbling something down. He slides the notebook toward Michael.

He waits a beat, two, before curiosity wins. He reaches out, pulling the notebook closer. Written on the very first line, is an invitation.

> _Between your shitty day and this lecture, seems like you could use a drink. I know I need one. You in?_

He looks to his right again. Buddy is staring straight ahead, appearing to be listening intently to the professor. Who the fuck is this dude?

He considers flat out saying no, or even pushing the notebook back without an answer. It’s his first instinct, which, in retrospect, is probably why he’s made exactly zero friends since moving. He thinks about what Gavin had said, him having no life. _Fuck him._

He picks his pen up and scrawls back a message.

> _If you’re buying, sure._

He slides the notebook, watches buddy read his response. The corner of his mouth quirks, and Michael counts it as a win. He does his best to watch the professor, right up until the notebook enters his peripheral vision.

> _:( you yelled at me. The least you can do is buy me a drink. It’s only fair._

Michael can’t help himself- he smirks. He’s in this now, apparently, so he’s got to think of something good. He chews the end of his pen a moment before he figures it out.

> _Shouldn’t the person extending the invitation pay?_

He knows the answer is unequivocally no, and he’s a total hypocrite for suggesting it. He used to beg Gavin to go out and do something, _anything_ with him, and he never once offered to pay for a single thing.

Whatever. This is different. Maybe.

The note comes back to him.

> _Look up ^_

He follows the instruction immediately, finding buddy staring at him for the briefest second, then quickly rolling his eyes. He turns back to the lecture.

Michael looks down again to read the rest.

> _I’ll make you a deal. I’ll buy yours if you buy mine ;) Best of both worlds._

The fucking winky face is the part that gets him the most. Maybe this is _entirely_ different than hanging out with Gavin had ever been. He could ask about, could try and clarify if this is just two classmates having a drink or… something else. Is the guy actually flirting, or is he just making a joke? Is he just imagining things because he’s so goddamn lonely? Michael isn’t sure, so he turns to his default. Sarcasm and shitty jokes.

> _Who the fuck are you, Hannah Montana?_

When buddy pulls the notebook, he hunches himself over it, shielding Michael from seeing whatever he’s writing. It goes on for minutes, and Michael begins to wonder if he’s writing a fucking novel. He’s about to rip a page from his own notebook to ask, but it comes back.

It’s not a novel, or even a long paragraph. It is, in fact, a sketch of a cartoon character that Michael recognizes. He’s a starfish holding a phone, with a speech bubble.

> _No, this is ~~Patrick~~ Jeremy._

The sketch is remarkably good, considering it only took him about five minutes. He’s paid attention to detail, too, taking the time to draw the little flowers on the shorts.

Michael stifles his own laughter with a hand over his mouth. They’ve managed to kill almost a half an hour with their middle school note passing. He knows they’re almost out of this, and he’s not about to get bitched at now.

He coughs, still trying to suppress his laughter. From the corner of his eye he can see the shit eating grin on buddy’s- _Jeremy’s-_ face.

When he finally composes himself enough, he scribbles back a message.

> _JFC don’t do that to me. Fucking fine, I’ll go._

Michael pushes the notebook to Jeremy, who catches his eye, still smiling. Michael isn’t sure if he’s regretting this conversation entirely or not. He could, obviously, use a drink and some company. He just wonders if Jeremy is the best one to fill that spot. They don’t know each other, up until now all of their conversations have been small talk, and then Michael cussing at him. Not exactly promising.

Jeremy spins the notebook at him, holding it there for only a moment.

> _:)_

He pulls it away, flipping back to his page of other sketches. Michael feels marginally more comfortable looking his way now. He seems like a decent artist, and Michael can’t deny the twinge of jealousy he feels at that. He’s always wanted to get better at that type of shit, but he’s never put in the time to really try.

He pulls himself away from watching Jerem’s hands, hoping to get something out of the end of the lecture. At the very least, know if he has any assignments so that they might not come back and bite him in the ass. The professor is still going on about behavioral training, and he decides to take his chances. A) he knows this shit, and B) he’ll check online later, if he has to. He tunes it out and just watches Jeremy.

He just barely makes out a curly headed figure on the page before Jeremy glances at him and flips to another page. There, in big letters across the top, he writes another message.

> _Keep your fucking eyes to yourself!!_

There’s a half circle under the exclamation points, turning them into another smiley face. He looks at Jeremy, who’s smirking as well. No hard feelings, then. He reaches for the notebook to write a retort, but he catches literally the tail end of what the professor is saying.

“-information for that will be on Canvas, and I’ll see you guys on Wednesday.”

The rest of the class begins shuffling their belongings, and Jeremy pushes away from the table. “Oh shit.” he says, as if he’s continuing a previous conversation.

“What?” Michael asks slowly. He’s putting his things away too, but he’s not nearly in the hurry everyone else seems to be. He braces himself for an immediate bail, like Jeremy hadn’t full thought through inviting Michael out. Maybe he had misstepped with watching him draw.

“I just realized-” here it comes, Michael thinks. “You are twenty one, right?” Jeremy looks embarrassed, like he should have asked sooner. “Cause I know I offered, and if you’re not, I mean-” Michael considers cutting him off, explaining that yes, he’s twenty one, don’t worry- but it’s honestly fun to hear him ramble. “I’ll still be a man of my word, it just makes it a lot fucking harder for you to do the same.”

Michael tries to hold out, tries to keep stone faced as long as he can. Jeremy looks away from him, shoving his notebook into his bag dejectedly. God, he’s got this sad puppy dog look on his face and Michael can’t help it- he breaks.

“Fuck, I know I have a baby face. But _really?_ ” he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, slipping his ID out and tossing it on the table. “You wanna check for yourself?”

Jeremy takes it, inspecting the card closely. “God _damn,_ dude, cutting it close there or what?” He glances up at Michael, smiling.

"Alright, fuck you. Do I need to check-" Michael is interrupted by their professor, standing at the door.

“Gentlemen? If you’re waiting for my office hours I’m afraid you're in for some disappointment.” She has her hand on her hip, her back against the door.

Michael snatches his ID from Jeremy, stuffing it in his front jean pocket. ”Uh, no ma’am, we’re going.” He pushes Jeremy more firmly than he intends, hands on the back of his shoulders. It’s a more familiar action than he expects from himself, even, but Jeremy just rolls with it. He lets himself be guided into the hallway, directly into a wrong turn just to get away from the classroom.

They pause at the end of the hallway, Michael finally dropping his hands from Jeremy’s shoulders.

“So what’s your plan, dude?” Michael asks, swinging his bag over his shoulder. He’d only grabbed by the handle when he’d rushed them out of the classroom.

“There’s a bar down the street, if you’re good with that.” Jeremy says, hooking a thumb in the direction they'd just come from.

“Shit, yeah, that works. Makes it a hell of a lot easier to walk back to my dorm later.” Michael says without thinking. It doesn't even register what he's saying until Jeremy raises an eyebrow.

"Alright, I, uh- I'll keep that in mind." He says with a grin.

It hits Michael then, this could actually be a thing. Jeremy might actually be _interested_ in him, that Jeremy asking him out might in fact be Jeremy... _asking him out._ He doesn't really know what to say about it.

"I- That's not-" he shakes his head. "Nevermind." He says, pushing Jeremy's shoulder gently. "Come on, you owe me drinks." He turns and starts walking the way they came.

Jeremy laughs, following him back down the hall. "We owe _each other_ drinks, Michael." He says bumping him slightly with his shoulder.

Michael only shakes his head, unable to help the small, fond smile on his lips. "Whatever you say, man."

He's not sure what he's gotten himself into, agreeing to drinks with Jeremy. This could easily be something he regrets. This could crash and burn and be the thing that ultimately sends him back to New Jersey. If he can't make this work, what hope does he have, really? 

But maybe it won't be.

He has to admit, he's excited to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> If you can name the band/song both titles come from, you win bonus points!  
> If you do the Tumblr thing, you can find me: writerofshit !


End file.
